“Nearly a month had been required to hatch me from the egg, and I had all the summer to grow in, for the older birds would soon moult, and while they were moulting there could be no flying. ‘As soon as we have our new autumn plumage,’ said my mother, ‘you will start your flying lessons.’ And as the days passed, she showed me great flocks of other birds flying overhead, the white egrets, the spurred geese in their black and white dress, the avocets and ibises. At times the hippopotamus trumpeted in the marsh, or a lion roared on the plain, or we heard the wail of a hyæna in the hours of deepest darkness; but there were no other noises to disturb us, and never a danger came our way. The leaders of the flamingo pack had chosen an oasis cut off from the other fertile region by miles of summer-made desert. I learned that when the autumn rains came all the land would blossom and bud once more, and be accessible to man and beast; but by that time we young birds were to be flyers, and the masters of the pack would guide us to safety.
“‘We are fortunate birds indeed,’ said my mother; ‘we have beauty and well-ordered lives, we are related to the storks and herons, on the one hand, and the geese tribes on the other; so in birdland we are sure of a welcome wherever we go. We can walk, swim or fly, according to our own inclination; our feet are webbed, our necks are the most flexible things in birdland; we are very peaceful, even in the mating season, and our eyesight is quite remarkable. We live in the least accessible parts of the world, and the most cunning hunter is baffled by our shyness. Some of us stand as high as a tall man, and measure four feet from bill to tail. These are the measurements of birds that cannot possibly be overlooked.’”
The Flamingo repeated these phrases with evident pleasure, and drew himself up to his full height in order to show that when his neck was straight, and he cared to stand erect, he cut a very fine figure. To be sure he looked a little ridiculous, with his absurdly thin legs and neck, but he did not know this, and there was nobody to tell him.
“As the summer grew,” continued the Flamingo, “the sun’s heat reduced the waters of the lagoon and made the little plateau that held our nest quite dry and hard. Then we youngsters would go off for little journeys on our own account, sometimes to the water for food, at other times towards the plains. We must have looked a curious company, and you would not have known us for flamingoes; our plumage was now white, with a little brown shading here and there, while our bills were still nearly straight. Had we been in an enemy’s country, as we were so often in the later days, we must have fared badly in those late summer months, for we were very awkward and helpless; we could not have defended ourselves against anything, and our parents were losing their feathers, and could hardly fly at all. Then I appreciated the wisdom of the leaders, who had chosen for us a part of the country that was unknown to nearly all other living creatures, and possessed splendid food supplies. A few flocks of birds related to us would rest and feed on the lagoon for an hour or two, and then would be up and away, while sometimes the only visitor was the little bird that walks upon the water,[[1]] or the little warblers that sang among the reeds all day.
“By the time my feathers had grown, and the moult of the parent birds had brought back a wonderful set of bright pink feathers, I was face to face with the task of my life, learning to fly. That is difficult enough at all times and among all birds, but a very special trouble comes to a young flamingo, because his own parents are not very good at flight. Even when we are fully developed we rise with difficulty; and when we are learning, and are apt to tumble about, we get bad bruises and nasty falls, because our parents cannot move quickly enough to help us. Some young birds were permanently injured, and could never fly properly; others fared even worse, and died of their injuries, and for some weeks our little colony was happy no longer. The young ones complained, the old ones scolded, and it was impossible to make allowance for weaklings. Those that could not fly by the time the waters rose would be left behind. That was the order, and it made us do our best.
“One morning the plover was heard calling to us at daybreak to say that the floods were coming down. The leader sounded the order for departure, and in a few moments we were on the wing in a wedge formation, speeding in search of fresh pasture grounds. It was a difficult journey, and we dropped a few weaklings by the way. When the heat became intense, we were halted by the side of a lake, and there we clustered for hours, shading our heads under our wings. The surface of the water was turned crimson by the strong light on the pink feathers of the grown-up birds.
“Those of us who did not find room on the lake stood round the sides, generally on one leg, thrust our heads and part of our neck under the most convenient wing, and slept or rested until the elder birds called to us to resume our places. Then the great wedge swept on, past forest and clearing and marsh land to another lagoon where we settled for our evening meal, very tired and stiff, but delighted to find that once we were on our wings we could move with ease. We were now in more open country; the break-up of the drought had scattered birds and beasts everywhere. Until the rain came they had kept in the water-courses and river-beds, now they could go where they pleased. Where we rested for the night there was so much noise that for all my fatigue I found it hard to sleep. If we moved and opened our eyes the glitter of the fire-flies was so bright and fascinating that it was hard to turn from them; the frogs, whose friends or relations or play-fellows we had eaten, protested all night long at the top of their voices; grasshoppers and mosquitoes sang, herons croaked and small birds held concerts. This was disturbing enough, but when an elephant pack thundered along towards the forest and the hippopotamus challenged them from the marshes only a few hundred yards away, you can imagine that sleep was not easy, and those of us that were still young and inexperienced would have flown away if we had known of a quieter resting-place. In a little time we learned to rely upon our leaders, to understand that the air held roads and well-marked tracks for them, that they could guide us, if not with perfect safety, at least with far more certainty and definite intention than we gave them credit for.
“Sometimes we camped in the neighbourhood of salt water that the flood had brought down, but this made no difference to our comfort. We could fish in salt water as well as in fresh, and our food—water plants, grubs, insects and small reptiles—was always plentiful. Sometimes, towards evening, when we were just settling for the night, there would be a rush for river or marsh. Deer of all shapes and sizes, zebras, sometimes lions or leopards, would come to drink, and though they may have had no designs upon us, our nerves could not stand the strain of their company. However tired we might be we would rise. Those who went up first would wheel round and round in a circle that grew larger and larger, until at last every bird was on the wing and we were off again through the quick falling twilight, forced to come to ground again where best we could. Then the night would be very restless and disturbed, for any small alarm would send nervous birds fluttering up into the darkness, only to come down again at the sound of the leader’s cry that all was well.
“If I were to tell you of the strange sights that I have seen,” continued the Flamingo, after pausing a moment to sample a little of the mud in the pond, “you would be surprised, but it would take too long. I have seen an army of storks being ranged in close formation to stay the advance of an army of locusts. I have seen beasts of prey drinking side by side with harmless antelopes, and not seeking to molest them. I have seen the rhinoceros lying asleep in the grass in the hunters’ country, quite at his ease, because his faithful attendant, the rhinoceros bird, has been perched on his broad back keeping watch for him. When he rises up the birds will often fly away to a tree, for they know he can look after himself, but when he rests they settle down upon him once again.
“I have seen the baby beasts of marsh and forest, the lion cubs and the hippopotamus calves. I have watched the paths of hunters and hunted in lands where the black man has never seen white folk, and goes about in fear of the animals that ravage his gardens, destroy his cattle, and kill him, too, if they can. And by the time I had seen all these sights I knew something of the world we live in; the spring had come again, and our leaders were bringing us back by forced marches to the lagoon where I was born.